by Oormila Vijayakrishnan Prahlad

I lean at the lookout and stargaze
as Echo Point shrinks 
like a black hole
in the cross hatch 
of bottle greens.

huddled in my anorak I wait
tousled wilderness of Jamison below
no urban lights 
pollute the stars.

eyes accustomed to the condensed dark
the Milky Way emerges
slow clarity— 
a nebulous ghost
in the bitumen of the night.

not motley neon like Nat Geo photos
just grains and wisps 
barely there
smudged mother-of-pearl
on southern skies.

momentarily alone
I exhale and weep
overcome by conflicting waves
of Stendhal 
and strange disappointment. 

young partygoers arrive hollering
pointing wildly 
at the star flecked firmament
shuffling past me 
on the silver seats.

a couple share a kiss 
too violent, deep tongued
the young man retching
chucking up a plume 
projectile vomit 
on milky concrete.

as their youthful laughter 
purls through Echo Point
I stare and think 
for an unforgivable moment
how the spatter resembles
the stars in the sky.

Oormila Vijayakrishnan Prahlad is a Sydney artist, poet, and improv pianist of Indian heritage. She holds a Masters in English and is a member of Sydney’s North Shore Poetry Project and Authora Australis. She has been published in several print and online literary journals and anthologies. Her recent works have been featured in Sandpiper, 3 AM Magazine, Leopardskin and Limes, and are forthcoming in Aromatica Poetica, The Pangolin Review, Star 82 Review, and elsewhere.